


Ravishing

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-16
Updated: 2007-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A weekend vacation between friends turns Jensen and Jared into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ravishing

**Author's Note:**

> From Jensen's POV. Not sure where the story came from or why. So I don't know if you guys will like it or not but I hope you do. (I was thinking for some reason that women shouldn't get to be the only ones getting ravished. Wouldn't men like it too?)

The thing about modern log cabins in the fall is that they’re romantic. As hell. To be in one with your best friend brings that fact home in ways you never consider. And lit wood-burning fireplaces? Fireplaces are romantic as hell too. So what are you supposed to do about this? About the desire to make lazy love in front of the fire with nothing around the cabin but trees losing their leaves and small animals scurrying for warm burroughs? How do you pretend you’re not thinking about it when your best friend is staring in your eyes and his skin looks golden as shadows flicker across its expanse? _Golden_? He’s a foot away, maybe less if you lean just a little bit and…Shit! What are you really supposed to do in this situation? Because there’s no handbook. No unspoken guide telling you which options to consider, to pitch in the shredder at the back of your brain, to hold onto for dear life. You’re stuck on a fuckin’ romantic (okay, so it wasn’t billed that way when he asked you to come but…) getaway with a guy you have never seen naked. A guy you are now imagining naked. Aw holy hell in a fry basket…

“Jen?” he starts hesitantly. You try to look away, you really do, but he seems to have hypnotized you.

“Huh?”

“This is good, right? You like the place?” His gaze is pleading and needy. Earnest.

“Yeah, Jay, it’s cool.” You hope no supreme beings around anywhere can hear you lying. Although it’s not technically a lie. You do like the place. It’s the way you look in it, just the two of you. And a fireplace. And a big picture window with the prettiest backdrop of autumn woods you’ve seen in a long time.

“Good. I wanted to do something nice for you, you know?” You know. Of course you do. Did he have to word it like that though? Like he’s your boyfriend? Like you’re sleeping-? Damnit!

“This is nice, Jay. Really.”

And it is. You admit it grudgingly. The cabin _is_ beautiful and the beds (he tested them out when you first arrived) are comfortable. It doesn’t matter that there are _two_ king-size, or that he claimed the one by the window, or that he tried to cook spaghetti in the kitchen and got most of the noodles, then the sauce, on the floor, or even that you’ve been sitting here in the living room or whatever it’s called for an hour staring at him like he’s a puzzle you’ve yet to figure out. It certainly doesn’t matter that you’re now wondering about his bedroom skills and if the length of a man’s middle finger really does correlate to the length of his pe-…That’s it. You can’t take any more. You run to the restroom to hide for a minute. Or a year. Whichever comes first.

“Jen?”

“What?” you aks loudly through the door, though you can tell he’s on the other side.

“You okay?” You swear that being with him is like being with a chick, but you wouldn’t want him any other way. Wait, did you just think _want_? As in **_want_**? You are so fuckin’ confused right now that you can’t even think straight…But you do have to laugh at your unintended pun.

“Yup.”

“Jen, stop lying. You want to go home, don’t you?” You hear a long sigh escape him. Fuckity fucking fuck!

“No,” you answer, exasperated, opeing the door to see his face. “I don’t. I just…I…” This is where you begin to stutter. Because he’s taken off his sweatshirt and the t-shirt he’s wearing is snug and you can see the outline of every muscle and they’re calling out to you for some strange reason and-. You are so screwed…

You don’t realize you’re kissing him until he gasps into your mouth. You don’t stop, though, just continue kissing, now touching, feeling him everywhere. At first he’s tense, surprised, then he gives, he just gives, and you groan. You _want_ him to give in to you. You need it. Need to have him. And he lets you. He allows you to undress him quickly, harshly, allows you to lick and bite and suck on any body part you can reach. When you sink to the hallway floor he allows that as well. Soon you start hearing this noise, this escalating sound. Takes you a minute to realize it’s you. His name in the back of your throat. Like it’s trapped, or you’re wounded. You’re growling it over and over again, your lips against the tender flesh of his neck, leaving fingerprints along his flanks as you grip and grind against him.

After a while all you speak is gibberish. He whispers sweet nothings lovingly, reverently. You push and pull against him, fuck him like you’re a desert and he’s a drop of the purest water. It hurts. It has to. Not enough lubrication and definitely not enough foreplay to relax him, and he still takes you hungrily, graciously. This tall boy with the body of a man and the grin of a child. He opens up to you. To your onslaught. That’s what it is too. An assault. You’re rougher, harder than you ever knew you could be, with him, because of him, and when you shoot into his greedy ass it hits you. The why of it all. The how. He’s your best friend, that’s for sure. But there’s more to the story. So much more. _You_ are the slow one, the one just now taking off the blinders, seeing for the first time just how much he’s giving, seeing just how willing he is to be with you. It hits you then that his love for you goes a lot deeper than either of you can fathom, that maybe, just maybe, your love for him…..The bastard….Making you fall in love with him. Making you need him. Christ, you’re on your hands and knees, his dick on your tongue, sliding so easily down your throat, his come a current electrifying your senses.

“Jay..…” Your voice drags in a ragged breath. “Jesus fuuuuccccckkkkkk!” You come at least twice while you deep-throat him, once before, and who knows how many more times are waiting in the very near future.

When you finally come back down to earth it is to him. His arms around your shoulders, hands caressing your hair and neck, your lips pressed lightly to his chest. He’s murmuring something. Girly, sticky sweet. You pretend you can’t hear it. Pretend you don’t want to. Okay, screwed is no longer the best adjective to describe what you are now. It’s not even in the same ballpark. The only word now that fits is fucked. You are well and truly fucked. Especially when he gazes deep into your eyes and begs for more.

“God, Jay, you’re…I’m…”

You end up awed, silenced by his heat, his openness. You slide in easily, slowly, making a promise to youself to give him more pleasure this time around, to make him surrender, to make him go over the edge and break apart so you can pick up the pieces. It doesn’t take long either. Not since you’re biting his shoulder. The pain of the bite, the long, thick, deep strokes of your dick massaging his prostate, the accompanying growl you can’t suppress, takes him there in five minutes flat. You watch him come, and come again yourself in the the process. You mentally commit the image of him raw and on fire to memory for future recall.

“Jen,” he whimpers when you try top pull out. “Wait? Please?”

You sigh, getting hard again in an instant. “Yeah…” Something like two or three hours have passed and you’re still not ready to stop touching him. “Yeah,” this time in a soft mumble.

“I love you.”

And see that right there? The immediate rush it sends through your bloodstream? The hunger it fills you with to hand your virgin ass over on a silver platter? The yearning to snuggle, fuckin’ _snuggle_, in bed with him on a chilly fall night like tonight? The feeling of satisfaction that worms its way into your heart and makes a permanent home there? _That_ is where you’re fucked. _That_ is what tells you there is a special place in hell, director’s chair and dressing room with your name on a gold star and all, waiting, just waiting for you. Noah and his arc would really be appreciated about now. You’re drowning in something so deep you can’t even see the surface anymore. And you don’t care. When did you start to not care?

“…I…Oh, hell…I love you, too, Jay…” You kiss him then to prove it.


End file.
